Runaway? - Part 1

 Good morning.

It's a lovely morning. Right now it's in the 60s and highs today are supposed to be 80s. My sister and I have gotten to walk every morning this week, and we're planning on heading out again before too long.

This week has been good. Busy, but not crazy. At least not yet. ;) And I have gotten to write at least 1k every day. Monday I actually wrote 2k. I've worked on Kate & Kylie, and my Unnamed Story (the one I shouldn't be writing, but I guess I should be because it just keeps coming), and last night I reached the end of this year's Christmas Collection story. I was having some trouble with it because I wasn't sure on one part, but I got that figured out yesterday. It's such fun to be back to writing again.

Still no update on Lawrence & Lenexa. No ideas for a cover yet. But that's okay. It will get done. Sometime.

I'm trying to get different things like blog posts, and writing camp stuff, and things for the release of A Homewood Christmas, done ahead of time so I can actually take time to enjoy the fall this year. The last two years I was rather distracted and busy.

There are some volleyball games this evening, and then tomorrow afternoon. I probably won't be going, but I don't know if any of my nieces and nephews will be coming over to "play with BehBeh" or not. I guess we'll see.

Today's story is a re-posting of a story from 2019. I hope you all enjoy. It was fun to write it. And yes, I got the idea from a Norman Rockwell picture.

 

Runaway?

Part 1

    Jerry trudged down the sidewalk one warm summer day. He had rolled up the bottom of his jeans as much as he could manage, but he was still hot. His feet were tired, and he was thirsty. Over his shoulder, tied up in a red bandana which was firmly knotted to a stick, were all his worldly possessions. Well, all he’d taken with him when he had run away from home that morning. Yes, Jerry was running away. He was never going back, he decided as he marched along. He was going to go live with President Eisenhower in the White House. Then he could have a dog if he wanted one. Jerry was sure there weren’t any kids living there with the president. “I might even be able to have two dogs!”
    The sun climbed higher in the sky, and Jerry’s feet were dragging. He was hungry. The breakfast of puffed rice cereal, toast, one fried egg, and juice he had eaten earlier had disappeared.
    “I should’a made me a sandwich before I ran away,” he muttered, kicking a rock into the street.
    A movement across the street caught his attention, and his eyes widened at the sight of a tall, broad shouldered policeman in a blue uniform.

*

    Officer Rockwell was walking his usual beat. His stomach told him it was time for lunch, and he fully agreed with it. Gil’s place was just across the street. Some days he had to eat elsewhere because his duties kept him away from this street at lunch time, but when he could, Officer Rockwell ate at the little diner.
    Glancing across the street, his brows drew together slightly. A young boy, he couldn’t be more than seven, in jeans and a light yellow shirt was trudging down the sidewalk alone.
    “He’s running away, I’ll bet,” Officer Rockwell thought, taking in the small bundle tied to the stick. “Maybe I can talk some sense into him. I wonder where he’s headed.”
    After waiting for a car to pass, he crossed the street and stopped in front of the boy.
    “Hey there, young fella, what’s your name?”
    “Jerry.” The name was very quiet.
    “Hello, Jerry. I’m Officer Rockwell, but my friends just call me Rock. Where are you headed to this sunny day?”
    The boy hesitated and looked down at his scuffed brown shoes. “To the White House,” he admitted at last.
    Officer Rockwell couldn’t hold back a low whistle. “That’s a good ways from here. Say, are you hungry?”
    Jerry nodded.
    “Have time to eat some lunch with me before you get back on your way? There’s a really good diner up here at the corner.”
    “I only have ten cents,” the boy whispered, his eyes still on the ground.
    “With that you can get a good meal at Gil’s,” Officer Rockwell assured, knowing that his friend would never charge the boy full price, and quite willing to add some to his own bill for the sake of the runaway. “Come on, what do you say we go inside where it’s cooler and get a bite to eat?”

*

    Jerry was torn. He did want to eat lunch, and his feet were already tired of walking, even though the day was far from over, but the policeman might decide to take him home after they ate. True, he hadn’t said anything about him running away or even asked if he had, and Jerry wondered if perhaps he hadn’t thought of it. Maybe he just thought he was traveling.
    “What do you say, Jerry? Doesn’t a sandwich with a thick slice of ham sound good? Or maybe spaghetti? Liver and onions? And what about a piece of pie and some cold lemonade to drink?” The police officer patted his firm stomach. “Gil’s got some tasty food.”
    Just then Jerry’s stomach gave a loud, complaining growl. “Yeah.”
    “Good. I like company when I eat.”
    Together the small boy and the large policeman walked the rest of the way to the corner and into Gil’s diner.

*

    Officer Rockwell led the way across the shiny gray floors to the gleaming chrome bar stools with green tops. He gave a inclination of his head toward his small companion when Gil looked up.
    “Here, have a seat, Jerry. Gil, I’d like you to meet my young friend.” Rockwell seated himself and rested his boots on the footrest. In another minute the boy was seated beside him, having set his bundle on the floor beside his stool.
    Gil came over and leaned on the counter. His clean white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled partway up. Thin dark hair was brushed back on his head, and a smile turned up one side of his mouth. “Hi there.”
    “Hi.”

Have you ever thought or tried running away from home?

Would you like to living in the White House?

Which of my stories are you must excited to get finished?